


negotiations

by dragonsong (NekoAisu)



Series: FFXIV Minifics [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Other, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Tumblr: ffxivimagines, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2020-12-22 21:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/dragonsong
Summary: What are they? Friends? Surely not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the ask:  
I know it is a strange ask, but... Could you write about a WoL reuniting with their love interest( whichever NPC you see most fit for this premise) after believing them to be dead for years? I'd love some angst, hurt/ comfort and fluff at the same time :D

The Warrior of Light had nearly forgotten him. They do this to all enemies, dear to their heart or not, where any prolonged absence of a familiar something to fight causes their brain to shove yet more memories into its little black box of Bad Times. They almost forget him, halfway to picking up a katana again just to hear the blade sing, when he comes back.

“His Radiance, Zenos zos Galvus, Emperor of Garlemald, would have your company,” a runner informs, panting and sweating like they had come from the empire’s capital direct to their door.

The Warrior sighs. “He is supposed to be _dead_.”

“That is beyond my pay grade,” the runner replies, handing them a small box. “Here. Garlean issue linkpearl of sorts. Coordinate your visit through that and please, _please_ do not ignore the summons. The palace has been _hell_.”

“O…kay,” they say slowly. “Duly noted.”

The runner gives half a bow and takes off again. The Warrior looks down at the strange little box, sighs, and walks back inside their house. They wanted peace and quiet, not a terrifying reminder that maybe their greatest frenemy wasn’t quite as dead as they thought him to be.

They pop the lid off the box and sit heavily in their armchair. Inside are fragments of crystallized ceruleum and a very Magitech-heavy earpiece. It’s a nice presentation, the bits of crystal nonvolatile and pleasing to the eye, but they do not want to pick up the earpiece.

What are they supposed to do, put it on and say, “I thought you were dead and your body stolen by an Ascian, but hey welcome back?” No! They were invited to visit an enemy nation’s capital by their best-worst friend. Gods, calling him a friend is a stretch. Enemy, yes, without question. Lover, maybe, given the number of adrenaline-fueled trysts they have had.

Friend? Surely not.

They pick up the earpiece and hold it up near their head. It looks strange and far more uncomfortable than a standard-issue linkpearl, likely built for long-distance transmissions than to ride on Eorzea frequencies. They put it on carefully and jump when a voice crackles through, _“Hello and thank you for calling. Please allow us a moment to patch you through.”_

They startle, caught off guard, and open their mouth to ask where the hell they're being redirected to. They have barely half a second’s time to take in a breath before a familiar voice spills from the earpiece. _“Hello again, my beast.”_

“What do you want?”

_“What do I want? Is it not clear?”_

They groan and scrub a hand over their face, biting out, “No. No, it’s not. You died, I buried you, I fought your body _again_ and knew your soul was no longer inside it. What am I supposed to think of this, Zenos?”

_“I had hoped you would be more receptive of my offer,”_ he laments. It’s false, of course. He holds no affection for them past the ring of their blades in combat. _“I doubt those you call allies have been helpful in challenging you, my beast. Come and sate your thirst.”_

“There is none,” the Warrior replies with no end to vitriol. “Do not presume to know me.”

Zenos laughs and the sound carries through the line with a crackle. _“But I do,” _he says smugly,_ “and you know this. I know the curve of your bare hip, the sound of your voice when you command me to yield. I know the taste of you same as I know the color of your blood. Be honest—“_

“And give myself over?! You never stopped being mad,” they accuse. They take off the earpiece and crumple it in their hand.

They had allowed him those liberties, yes, but they were all things the Warrior regrets. <strike>He was too good to them</strike>. They want to scrub that from their memory and had been so very close to doing so. Then, just like how he had knocked them back to weakness at Rhalgr’s Reach, he pops up to remind them of his taint. They will never be free.

They leave for adventures again, come back to gifts piled at their door, an honor guard, hunting hounds, myriad things they have no need of. It’s the fifth time they’ve been given another earpiece that they ask, “What do you want me for?”

_“Everything.”_

No,” they say sharply, “you don’t.”

_“What makes you say that,_” he teases with a curious and callous tone of voice. _“I want all of you, beast. I will have it.”_

“That’s it. That is _exactly_ it. You want me to be your beast, your pet, your feral little companion until the end of days when you slaughter me and all others to fill the hole you call a heart.” They sigh, tired and emotionally hollowed out. “Do not presume to love me when you only care for he barest sliver of my self.”

_“And if I wish to have all of you?”_

They laugh, disbelieving. “You can start with visiting in person. Long-distance isn’t for me.”

_“I will be there in one week’s time,” _Zenos promises.

The Warrior smiles softly. “Yes, yes, okay. Do not bring an army, loverboy.”

They bicker and spit false promises at each other for a good bell more. The sun dips below the horizon. The line goes silent after their snippy goodbyes.

The Warrior has no idea what they have gotten themself into.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenos is superbly bad at being domestic.

“I thought you were kidding.”

Zenos smiles and it’s the farthest thing from charming. He stares down his nose at the Warrior if Light, imperious and impetuous, and asks, “When did I last break my word, beast?”

They roll their eyes. “Just now. The whole_ “beast” _thing. Try again in a week.” They shut the door in his face.

From outside, they can hear him call to them and throw a minor tantrum. They settle down on their worn couch and pick up their embroidery again. He’ll come back, they know, even as he stomps away and lays waste to underbrush.

And Zenos does, though it takes half a month and three more tries before he addresses them by name.

“Good job,” they praise, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Come in. There’s water heating for tea.”

Zenos crowds himself into their home, always too big in aura for anything other than vaulted ceilings and the unending road of war. He looks… decidedly awkward, sitting primly at their table. The Warrior muffles a half behind a hand and takes the pot off the stove, measuring out leaves into a practical metal steeper before latching it and leaving the tea to steep. They grab two cups—both of delicate make—and set them on the table.

“Honey or sugar?”

“Neither.”

They pour him tea without a mote of fear. “Suit yourself. I’ve found Shroud tea rather bitter without.” They sit the bowl of sugar cubes nearer to his side, anyway.

Zenos attempts small talk and politeness, but it’s all blunt and discomfiting. The attempt at nicety makes him look like he swallowed a knife, rather than tea. He sneaks a sugar cube into his cup.

The Warrior smiles. “So, what is it you have planned? I am not one for courtship, nor am I a prize you can win. Certainly not a pet, either.”

“I am here to ask for your hand.”

They snort. “No thank you.”

He frowns and it’s no less sickly sweet than his smile. “I will find a way to make you accept.”

“Good luck with that,” they reply, sipping at their tea (which is more a blend of clover honey and warm leaf-water than actual tea).

Zenos simply filches three more sugar cubes, finishes his tea, and finds that he… does not know how to wash dishes. Garlemald has household technology to handle such things as laundry and dirty dishes. They cut out the work for servants to increase military availability. The Warror has no such things.

They scrub at a pot and he is drawn to the sight of their nape, hair pinned out of the way to avoid getting any splashes or wayward soap from matting it. He has to crush the want to bite at their neck and replace it with pettiness.

“Let me wash it.”

They look at him. Blink. “You said it was unacceptable that us savages do not have machines to wash our dishes and now you want to scour my pots and pans.”

“Yes.”

They smile and it’s lopsided, but so painfully endearing that Zenos has to keep himself from giving in to the heart demon that likes to encourage him to take and break and own—they hand him an apron. It is a good bit too small to cover his whole front, but they insist he wear it.

“It’s a part of the experience,” they insist, tying the ribbons at his waist into a neat bow. “Now we match!” And they do, though their apron is a good bit dirtier and has a few singe marks at the neck.

Zenos finds he likes it.

“Teach me, Warrior.”

They huff in a way that suggests fondness rather than frustration and hand him their sponge, hands settling over his, and instruct, “So we start here…”

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on:  
tumblr | https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com/  
twitter | twitter.com/FlamingAceKiri  
discord | NekoAisu#7099


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